


Hate Is Such An Ancient Game

by Theveryhornycaterpillar



Series: How We Met Again [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, One Shot, POV Third Person, quite a lot of blood involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 17:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5880013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theveryhornycaterpillar/pseuds/Theveryhornycaterpillar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not how the Commander and Wanheda meet again but how Clarke and Lexa meet again.<br/>Set after Lexa's fight with Roan. Clarke gets the job of patching up the Commander.<br/>"When asked how their arm is following a dislocated shoulder most people respond with something along the lines of ‘hurts like a bitch’ or at the very least a pained grimace. But not The Commander. Oh no, she pouted like a toddler and whispered ‘hurts’ as if her arm hadn’t been almost completely detached from the rest of her body just hours prior. Honestly, Clarke was sick of it."<br/>It's better than the description makes it sound. Ok that's a lie, but hey, try it anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hate Is Such An Ancient Game

**Author's Note:**

> I really struggled to focus whilst writing this so sorry for any mistakes, I think I ironed most of them out but may have missed a couple.

“Heda, open your hand” Clarke bit down on her words, forcing them through gritted teeth. She would really rather be anywhere but here in this moment. Who knew the Commander of the twelve clans could be such a child? Clarke did. She had known since she awoke after the Pauna attack.

When asked how their arm is following a dislocated shoulder most people respond with something along the lines of ‘hurts like a bitch’ or at the very least a pained grimace. But not The Commander. Oh no, she pouted like a toddler and whispered ‘hurts’ as if her arm hadn’t been almost completely detached from the rest of her body just hours prior. Honestly, Clarke was sick of it.

Eight times, eight fucking times she had asked her to open her hand so she could assess the damage yet all the Commander did in response was hiss an “I am fine Clarke” and attempt to intensify her already pathetic glare as if there weren’t tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

It was after the ninth attempt that Clarke snapped because: “come on! Nobody who has that much blood dripping from their hand is fine!” And as much as it pained her to admit it, she couldn’t have her dying from some stupid infection just because she was far too stubborn to admit when she needed help. “If you don’t open your hand I am just going to cut the entire thing off!” Well that got a reaction. Not the desired one since the hand was still very much clenched, but the flash of fear mixed with disbelief was a reward in itself. She really was a child.

A child whose arm had rivers of crimson liquid soaking into the fabric of her clothes. A child whose entire hand was coated in her own blood as it continued to drip onto the wooden flooring of her quarters with soft taps. “Commander if you’re not going to let me look then please at least hold it up like this” Clarke barked, lifting her left hand over her head, holding onto the elbow with her right so as to help support the weight. “It will help slow the bleeding.” For a moment, Clarke thought that she might follow her orders for once. That was wishful thinking. Lexa merely met her stare and blinked, a slow, calm blink, dropping her gaze back to her knees. That could mean one of two things. Either she was moments away from passing out or she was too scared, too ashamed to admit to her pain. There may have been a lot of blood but nowhere near enough to warrant her collapsing, and the pain, she knew full well that she had experienced worse.

Suddenly she was back in that tent with the scared girl who believed exposing her feelings to be weakness. The girl she gave her heart to the moment their lips met even if she wasn’t ready to share it… not yet.

She softened her posture, leaning forward slightly, shifting from her burning stare to something more sympathetic. “Lexa” It was the first time she had used her name since the mountain and it felt odd on her tongue following months of neglect, yet still so natural. Lexa looked up at the mention of her name, surprise flitting across her features for a fraction of a second only to be replaced by her former neutral expression. “Lexa, I’m not going to hurt you just please let me see your hand”. Her fist barely twitched towards Clarke, though it was enough to give her hope that maybe Lexa trusted her. If only for a moment.

She reached out to take hold of Lexa’s wrist her fingers brushing the sticky, congealing blood on the back of her gloved hand. The hand was snatched away leaving her clutching at air. She let her breath whistle through her teeth as she exhaled, bringing her eyes back up to meet Lexa’s, trying not to let her frustrations rise once more. “You’re being a child”

“I am no goufa Clarke” The mumbled reply hinting otherwise.

“Let me help you” green eyes peered back at her through a film of tears, the subtle shake of her head, Clarke suspected, may not have convinced even herself. “Teik ai sis yu op Leksa” Lexa’s eyes widened at the use of her mother tongue. “Beja” She pleaded. Clarke hardly had time to register the surprise on Lexa’s face before a bloody fist was crawling towards her opening as it did so. “Mochof Leksa, mochof” she breathed a sigh of relief. She curled the fingers of her right hand around the wrist in a firm yet gentle grasp maintaining their eye contact as she pulled the hand towards her so she could inspect it more closely. Seeing the fear that still lay in the other woman’s eyes she allowed her lips to curve up in a reassuring smile. Another gesture that felt foreign to her after months of solitude.

Lexa visibly relaxed, letting out a shaky breath Clarke reckoned she had been holding since their arrival in this room some half hour ago. The cut was deep, that much was apparent from the amount of blood both initially, and still flowing from the wound. It appeared to be clean though so that was good. In a perverse way, she was glad that Roan used only the best and sharpest swords. A ragged cut caused by a blunt or rough blade would be far more difficult to treat and no doubt a lot more painful to endure.

She considered her options, her lips moving as she processed the actions in her mind. Her first priority was to get the cut clean. The blood, she was certain, had washed away any dirt but it was always better to be safe than sorry. Second was to stop the bleeding. That shouldn’t be too difficult; the bleeding had slowed significantly. Applying pressure and elevating should do the rest for her. Then it was just a matter of stitching and bandaging. She had the tools on the table by her side. The stitches would be by far the least pleasant part for both of them.

To do any of that, the glove needed to come off. Clarke couldn’t risk pulling the glove over the cut for fear of dragging dirt into it or destroying any clotting. She glanced up to find Lexa staring intently at her hand as she worked. “Lexa” Clarke waved her left in front of her face drawing concentration away from her glistening palm “I need to cut your glove off ok?”

Clarke saw Lexa’s eyes flick to the knife laying on the table beside her and swallow a heavy gulp. She could not blame her for being wary, after all, it was only a few days ago that Clarke had pressed a similar knife to her throat whilst muttering promises of her downfall. She had no intention of harming Lexa now, though. She just hoped that the gentle way she squeezed Lexa’s wrist conveyed that enough for her to trust her.

Lexa’s breathing remained even as Clarke reached for the knife. That was good, wasn’t it? It meant she trusted her didn’t it? Although her breathing did not change even when the knife was to her throat so did this mean anything at all?

She turned their hands so she could cut up the back of the glove, staying as far from the gash as possible. She turned their hands back over, feeling Lexa’s hand tense within her own when she teased the glove off over her fingers. “I’m sorry” She whispered, running her thumb over the back of her wrist in soothing patterns. “That’s the worst part done” she lied. In reality, that was the least bad part, but if it helped Lexa stay calm and trusting then it was worth evading the truth.

The glove was heavy with blood, Clarke deposited it on top of the small puddle of blood already on the floor with a shudder. Blood seemed to be the only thing she had seen on the ground. She had shed far too much of that by her own hand. Anya’s guard, Finn, Dante… “Clarke?” Lexa caught her as her eyes began to mist over bringing her back to the present. “Clarke” Out the corner of her eye she saw a damp cloth being held out to her in Lexa’s right hand. She allowed a weak smile to grace her features as she reached out for the cloth.

She kept her eyes trained on Lexa’s face while she dabbed the blood away from the skin around the cut, looking for any signs of distress. If she was in pain then she hid it well. Staring down at Clarke’s hand moving atop her own with only the occasional twitch of her eyebrows to indicate at discomfort. It cleaned up well and Clarke was relieved to confirm that although, yes, it was deep, it was also very neat. She placed the cloth back into the bowl of reddening water picking up the square bottle next to it. “I’m going to move your hand over the bowl. I don’t want to make a mess of your floor.” She looked down at the glove and pool of blood that was seeping into the boards around it. “More of a mess than we’ve made already anyway”. If her attention wasn’t fixed upon Lexa’s face then she would have missed the shadow of a smile. It was gone as soon as it arrived but Clarke thought that the earlier fight to even get Lexa to open her hand may have just been worth it if only for that.

Still cupping Lexa’s hand in her own, she used her teeth to pull the cork from the bottle, the burning tang of alcohol setting her nostrils ablaze. If there was one thing her people could do well it was distilling alcohol strong enough to knock out a horse. If the tensing of her entire body was anything to go by the sensation in her nose was mild compared to the searing pain that shot through Lexa’s palm. Still her face remained calm, stoic. Her eyes, however, were fierce and the bob of her throat hard to miss. She recovered quickly, her body calming, her hand relaxing into Clarke’s with the swirls she continued to draw with her thumb.

Clarke Picked up the needle between her thumb and forefinger, holding onto the very end of the eye whilst heating the point in the flame of a candle til orange. She cooled it in a small cup of alcohol. “I need both hands to thread the needle. The bleeding has mostly stopped but I need you to hold your hand above your head like this.” She repeated her demonstration from earlier, this time, Lexa echoed her movements. “Mochof Leksa”

She could feel her impatience growing with each failed attempt to thread the needle. With impatience came annoyance which bought with it shaking hands and therefore, frustration. She was moments away from flinging the damned thing across the room, bursting into tears and storming out the door when she felt a soft hand on her own. Lexa sat with her left arm still raised above her head in a pose not dissimilar to that Clarke found herself in during many lessons on The Ark. Her right arm was stretched out to Clarke’s own holding it steady for her as she pushed the thread through the eye of the, now still, needle. They shared a mutual look of relief over the completed task.

“You can put your arm down now” Clarke held out her own hand for Lexa to rest hers in. “This will hurt. Do you want something to bite down on?”

Lexa snorted in clear distaste reminding Clarke of Lincoln’s refusal to accept his limitations of pain. “I will be fine Clarke.” Much like Lincoln her conviction faltered seconds later when the needle pierced the sensitive flesh of her palm. 

Clarke felt her go rigid, the hand resting in her own seeming to grow only more stiff with each brush of her thumb against her wrist. “Lexa, you need to relax or this is going to hurt a lot more.” She tried to meet her eyes but Lexa maintained her staunch glare on the floor at her feet, jaw locked, the tendons in her neck stretched to breaking point. Her hand relaxed enough for Clarke to push the needle through the other side of the cut forming the first stitch. The start of the second stitch was met with a hiss of discontent despite which Lexa’s hand remained relaxed.

With each suture, Lexa seemed to grow calmer, her breathing more even. By the time Clarke completed the twelfth and final stitch the tendons in her neck no longer stood out and her jaw relaxed. She pulled her palm from Clarke’s hand, bringing it closer to her face to inspect the neat row of stitches. Clarke selected a bandage from the table top holding Lexa's hand out, palm up, in front of her. She wrapped it round tight enough to hold fast, loose enough to spare unnecessary pressure on the wound. 

Lexa bought her hand up to her face once more, inspecting the clean white bandage the Skaikru used. “Thank you Clarke” She brought her hand back down into Clarke’s, this time, palm down. Tracing patterns on her palm with delicate touches from the tips of her fingers “mochof”.

Clarke smiled at the woman in front of her, watching the way she was fascinated by trailing soft touches over her skin. “It’s not weak to admit when you’re in pain, to ask for help.” Clarke stated, breaking the silence.

Lexa glanced up her eyes shifting from bright to dull in the time it took her to focus on Clarke’s face. “It would not be suitable for my people to view their commander’s pain”. She withdrew her hand, away from Clarke’s with a pained expression, straightening her back and tilting her chin upwards in a regal stance. “I cannot show them my weakness”

Clarke gathered her equipment from the table beside her, standing, walking towards the doorway, to where her own quarters lay. She turned back to the bed as she exited “you can show me”.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.  
> The title is from DNA by Clarity A.K.A. the song used in the S3 trailer.  
>   
> Translations:  
> Beja- please  
> Mochof- thank you  
> Teik ai sis yu op- let me help you  
> I think that's all of them :/ 
> 
> Comments and Kudos make me incredibly happy (honestly, it's ridiculous) so go go go


End file.
